


stained glass variation of the truth

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, POV Raphael Santiago, Raphael misses his Simon, Simon uses his words, Sleeping At Last: Neptune, post-Morningstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: "Why are you here?"Raphael's carefully sewn stitches are coming undone after decades of holding himself together and he lets them.Thunder cracks with a loud boom, Simon takes two steps forward."To be honest, I don't know. I started walking and every sidewalk kept leading me back here."





	

 

 

 

> _Pitch black, pale blue_  
>  _It was a stained glass_  
>  _Variation of the truth_  
>  _And I felt empty handed_  
>  ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKtyJeNpcT4))

 

 

 

Pitch black shadowed, battered and bruised - they keep their distance.

Simon had once described their dynamic as a sailboat in shallow water and Raphael never knew what to make of it until the aging wood began to leak. He hadn't understood until the pressure of blame and guilt tipped the scales against him, what he wouldn't give for a life raft. For once he'd like to hear, _So about that apology..._  

(He will wait)

As it were, water is just as fatal as a lit match and this cheap wood is folding. God, he never knows how to answer when someone asks with the best of intentions:

 

 

 

  _Do you remember the feel of rain on your skin?    (Do you remember being alive?)_

 

 

 

Simon as a flurry of droplets building into a tsunami, Simon as the last breath before going under.

The mention of his name runs down Raphael's spine, a firework exploding from the inside. It's all he can do to hold onto the bitterness - to douse the sparks that threaten to burn this whole thing to cinders. _This_ being life, being phantom kisses on the nape of his neck, _this_ being life after him. 

He'd locked up tight, jaw clenched.

 

 

 _I am_ _trying to forget._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rich soil filters through his fingers as a graveyard takes up residence in between the cracks in his chest and he wants to excavate the dead.

If they could speak, he'd tell ivory bones about a boy he loved like the first snowfall and how quickly frostbite spreads from nail beds to the tips of his toes - 

_We melted together._

_We were a candle out of control and I didn't notice the cold until it was too late,_ he'd say. 

The wind would stir up a breeze and he'd thank them for taking the time to listen to a scattered black hole of a person. He'd walk away knowing at least one person in this jaded world knows about amber eyes and a stake in the form of _'_ _I don't know how to do this.'_

He would palm a gravestone and try not to think about blood dripping down a chin and an eternity lost. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bloody tears like ribbons stain his cheeks and neck; painting the collar of a suit that still smells like  _him._

If he times it right, closes his eyes at the exact second and inhales - he could pretend the suit is not empty. That his heart is as empty as an abandoned church, tainted faith. It's not - Simon's name graffities every inch. 

_I was here._

_I broke you._

He could pretend. 

Lies are beautiful in the shadows where you cannot see the full extent; the wreckage. He is the master of little white lies and thick skin like armor.

If he could sleep away the sun, maybe it wouldn't burn quite as bright when his head hits the pillow. When he wakes alone in the dark. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

In this version of their story, the sky is the one who cries and there is no bitter ending. In one universe out of millions, Raphael leads an impossibly perfect life without constantly seeing the back of Simon's head as he walks away. 

As he never comes back.

There's a space for them somewhere between this world and the next and in it, he licks the blood from Simon's lips. They take turns dipping in for another taste and he wonders when sin became this delicious. 

In this version, waking up alone is sacrilege. 

He dreams.

He dreams.

He dreams.

 

 

* * *

 

He wakes.

 

Gray skies, brown eyes - 

Rain and sleet pound the slick roof of Hotel DuMort and even the paintings tremble. They're a muted premonition of the next five minutes when the door creaks open and everything comes to a halt.

"It was, um, it was unlocked." 

Simon is paler than he should be as if someone came along and stole his glow. His arms are open at his side, hands unclenched and it's a Sunday hallelujah when he steps through the door. 

 

 

 

_(Do you remember the feel of rain on your skin?)_

 

 

 

Raphael speaks, voice hoarse and low. He is waving a white flag of surrender as planks of sailboat begin to come together. 

"Are you hurt?" 

"No."

There's mistruth in his tone, they are hurt together. A unit constantly pressing one another's buttons for an excuse to exist together. It shouldn't be this hard. 

"Why are you here?"

Raphael's carefully sewn stitches are coming undone after decades of holding himself together and he lets them. Thunder cracks with a loud boom, Simon takes two steps forward.

"To be honest, I don't know. I started walking and every sidewalk kept leading me back here."

The clan leader's ribs ache against the tension of holding Simon inside. The fledgling had stubbornly wedged himself somewhere between the heart and the fragments a mere two days after Raphael snapped and hissed,  _Kill them._ Most nights he can hardly get out of bed with the weight on his chest serving as a constant reminder: 

 

 

 

_There are many ways to die, loving should not be one of them._

 

 

 

But it is.

Raphael regards Simon with wounded eyes that reflect grief behind the mask. He is an open book. It's pouring out and he's throwing away the paddles.

From the corner of his eye the water rises as a sailboat comes into view. It's exterior is freshly painted in a matte cotton white, purity. The wood is sturdy, a solid foundation to build upon. 

"I understand." 

 

 

 

 _If you wait, the rain will find you, it will lead him home_.

 

 

 

He is soaked to the bone.

Simon takes three bold strides until they're nearly chest to chest. It feels strangely intimate being on the other side of the magic with _control_ pulled tight like the string of a bow, he is going to snap. With pride he realizes Simon had paid more attention in training than he'd thought and knows how to flip the narrative, _he_ is in charge. His hands have to power to break Raphael. 

"I don't think you do," Simon countered. 

He's wrong.

Raphael knows what it feels like to operate on auto-pilot and end up shadowing the one you cannot have. It's a nightmare that finds him bitter and angry, palm splayed on Simon's chest to push him against any hard surface. 

 

 

 

_We are hard. We love like it's killing us._

 

 

 

"You'd be surprised," Raphael retorts, backing him up against a thick wall. 

Simon, his beautiful fledgling with eyes the color of dark caramel drink him in one inch at a time, tongue coming out to press against his upper lip. Raphael's teeth ache, he wants this so badly. Fangs threaten to protrude and it's a thin line from where he is and where he wants to be, what he craves.

 

 

 

_Mark him._

(I can't)

 

 

 

Having had his fill Simon invades his personal space without asking. He takes and he takes and Raphael is forever giving in, loving until his throat is raw. Loving - knowing his happy ending belongs to someone else. 

"I've missed this," Simon confesses, brushing their noses together feather light. 

Raphael's eyes flutter closed. His hands curl into fists at his side - resist. 

Raindrops pelt harder against the roof as Simon's shirt dampens an expensive charcoal button up. It's like being baptized when you never expected to be saved in the first place. The room will smell of him for weeks and Raphael will flee from the tidal wave of grief. This is how their story goes.

Only-

"I screwed up, Rafe. Big time and so this is me apologizing if-you know, if you want to acce-"

 

 

 

 

_So about that apology..._

 

 

 

 

Raphael plants a hand on his chest and swallows the words before he can finish.

 

 

The second their lips collide, an ocean rises, a sailboat bobs along peacefully,  _whole._

Fresh rain washes away mistakes. Thunder dies down to a low rumble as they fall into one another. Simon moans under his breath; one hand cradling the back of Raphael's head and the other gripping a hipbone through his slacks.  

Fangs nip at Raphael's lip as the kiss deepens, causing tiny beads of blood to gather and _fuck -_ it's the sexiest thing he has ever saw: Simon's tongue darting out to hungrily chase each one. He feels like a furnace on the inside; molten lava and weak knees.

He - Raphael Santiago, made pliable and soft by one beautiful boy. 

For the first time they touch without inhibitions or flimsy excuses. Simon's hands are restless, everywhere at once but gentle and loving, adoring. Oh how he adores - with teeth and fingertips, flesh and blood. 

Without breaking the kiss they fall onto a gilded sofa and let the current pull them under.

 

In this version, there are no goodbyes. 

* * *

 

 

 

_Do you remember the feel of rain on your skin?_

**_It feels like being loved by him._**

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
